Not a Joke
by Onesmartcookie78
Summary: For the Quidditch League FanFiction Competition: Round Two: Song Lyrics. Fred and George have always been able to joke about everything, but the Second Wizarding War has frightened some of the humour out of them. One-shot.


Not a Joke

Onesmartcookie78

**Summary**: Fred and George have always been able to joke about everything, but the Second Wizarding War has frightened some of the humour out of them.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing

**A/N**: Beta'd by the brilliant **purple-psychopath**.

* * *

_"I awake to see that no one is free_

_We're all fugitives_

_Look at the way we live_

_Down here I cannot sleep from fear no"_

- "Spies" by Coldplay

* * *

When Fred and George first realised how awful the Second Wizarding War was doomed to be, it was the Christmas of their Seventh year at Hogwarts. Granted, they had planned to leave soon after their N.E.W.T.s -though the exact timing had revolved largely around how much of a cow Umbridge was being- so that mum would at least have their grades; that way she'd feel important, since she'd be able to wave their O's and E's at them and say: "see what you could have done with your life!" when they opened their joke shop with the Triwizard Tournament winnings. They'd have to deal with her moaning about it, but it would make her feel better to have their marks. All the Weasley children knew -but pretended not to be aware- of the fact that she framed their good marks and kept them hanging on the walls of her and dads' room.

Anyways, they had known at the beginning of the year that there was soon to be a war; they had even joined the Order! What had made it realistic though, was the attack on their father. That had brought to life just how dangerous their new status as junior Order members was. It had made them reconsider just a bit, and had put some perspective on the matter.

It had made them think that maybe it wasn't all fun and games- that it was no joke.

The second (and last) time they naïvely underestimated the cruelty of You-Know-Who was when Dumbledore had been murdered and Hogwarts had been invaded for the first time. Snape, one of their own, had betrayed them- stabbed them all in the back and then thrown salt on the wound when he'd killed their mentor. Fred and George had never liked him, had always suspected that he was in too deep with You-Know-Who and the Dark Arts; that he would double cross them. It had been a fact they had suggested to anyone who would listen. To have it shoved back in their faces -never mind that they'd been right- had been horrible.

Of course, the stupid git, Malfoy, had also played no small part in assisting the Dark Lord. Fred and George had thought that Malfoy was a right awful prat, and quite thoroughly connected to You-Know-Who (what with his parents) but to see such a change in that boy... It hadn't been that hard for them to believe that the Malfoy who had let the Death Eaters into the school was the same one that had nearly had Buckbeak executed, but that was part of what was so terrible about it. They'd seen the evil within him, even when he'd only been a First year.

So, after all that had happened, they'd assumed childishly that they had been surprised enough, that nothing else would surprise them. And then Bill and Fleur's wedding had happened; and that had terrified them.

You-Know-Who had struck too close to home, by striking their _home_. Sure, it was a war and it is understood that in war, even the innocent are not out of the woods, but it was _their_ home. With _their_ guests, _their_ family, _their_ friends! Harry had been there though and that had made the attack okay. That had made it justified.

After that, Fred and George had come to realise how difficult it was to be affiliated with the Order. They were given odd tasks every now and then from their shop on Diagon Alley; told to go rescue some poor bloke cornered in his shop by Death Eaters. They'd had to cover their faces, lest they be seen; but to know they were making some sort of dent on the Dark side was worth it.

And then their shop had been closed and the Order had stopped giving them things to do because they were no longer in a position to do much. They were forced out of their shop and told to keep it closed. They were at least allowed their flat on top of the store, and it was there Lee Jordan stayed with them. The only ways they were able to leave was via the Floo Network (and the Ministry [controlled by You-Know-Who] kept too close an eye on that) or Apparation.

Then the three of them had decided that the Order could do with their help, whether they wanted it or not. Not to mention since they no longer had a joke shop and their nature was to jest, they needed and outlet. And so they had helped Lee create Potterwatch, the radio station dedicated to giving the real news to the right people- the ones who would believe it, and the ones that needed it. They tended to be one in the same. Then they'd gone back to focussing their time on inventing new products for when Weasley's Wizard Wheezes could be reopened.

That had been a relatively short process; it wasn't long before they'd gotten involved with Potterwatch and started joining in on broadcasts.

* * *

_"So, people, let's try and calm down a bit. Things are bad enough without inventing stuff as well. For instance, this new idea that You-Know-Who can kill with a single glance from his eyes; that's called a basilisk, listeners. One simple test: Check whether the thing that's glaring at you has got legs. If it has, it's safe to look into its eyes, although if it really is You-Know-Who, that's still likely to be the last thing you ever do."_ Fred joked lightly. George fist bumped him as they all signed off.

What none of them said was how afraid they were. They were only keeping up appearances at this point. They were afraid to sleep. And when they found the courage to, they could not. Fred, George, and Lee in the same room all night with a light on and all the protective charms they could manage and they still couldn't sleep.

They'd learned in those hours before the sun rose just how little of a joke this War was. They were fugitives and in those moments before the sky broke out in pinks and oranges and yellows, the golden orb of their salvation shining as brightly as it could from the usual cloud cover of London; they had stopped lying to themselves and had admitted their terror. It wasn't a verbal acknowledgment, but their silence spoke for them, as it often does.

And what it'd had to say.


End file.
